Inconstant
by RosesOfTheGarden
Summary: Because so much can be conveyed in a name. And in the end, it was the simplest things that mattered. Prim-centric. A collection of one-shots, in non-chronological order.
1. Alstroemeria

**Title:** Inconstant

**Author:** RosesOfTheGarden

**Summary:** Because so much can be conveyed in a name. And in the end, it was the simplest things that mattered. Prim-centric. A collection of drabbles and one-shots, in non-chronological order.

**Notes:** So here's how it's going to work: each chapter features a different flower, and the drabble/one-shot has something to do with what the flower symbolizes. Currently I'm using whatever I can find on the internet, so the flowers I pick are random. That being said, you're free to request a flower you particularly want to see in this fic. Just leave me a flower name and the meaning via review or PM.

The opening quote is from:

www. teleflora about - flowers

(without the spaces, of course.)

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Hunger Games or the opening quote.

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**Alstroemeria**

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_aspiring; friendship and devotion_

_"Symbolizing friendship and devotion, the alstroemeria's leaves grow upside down, with the leaf twisting as it grows out from the stem, so that the bottom is facing upwards gently, carefully, with hands that could only ever help. Depending on the seriousness of the injury, the patient would writhe and howl so loudly that she would almost turn away. Nonetheless, her mother's determination and calmness never wavered. She went on stitching and tending, as if she were doing something as mundane as cooking dinner or picking herbs._

Sometimes this took a minute, other times, a day or more. But almost always, the patient would emerge fully healed and healthy, with a word of thanks and a smile to boot. Her mother would watch with a small, pleased smile, and jokingly say that she hopes the patient would never have to come back again.

Though her mother often discouraged it, she watched as many operations as she could. She found that it wasn't her mother's nimble fingers or determination that fascinated her, but simply, her ability to transform a sickly young man until a robust, enthusiastic teenager. Her ability to help others, to save lives.

When she was younger and asked how she did this, her mother gave her a smile and answered, "Magic. With a dose of patience."

She spent days pondering this answer. Magic! Like the fairies and sorceresses that her father often told stories of, who guided humans with their spells and blessings.

If her father and sister could hunt, then she and her mother could heal. Her family would be even now, with one parent and daughter killing, and the other half of the family saving.

And that was her first dream. To become just like her mother.


	2. Gladiolus

**Title: **Inconstancy

**Summary:**Because so much can be conveyed in a name. And in the end, it was the simplest things that mattered. Prim-centric. A collection of drabbles and one-shots, in non-chronological order.

**Notes: **Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Hunger Games or the opening quote.

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**Gladiolus**

_strength, integrity, infatuation_

_"Gladioli also represent infatuation, with a bouquet conveying to a recipient that they pierce the giver's heart with passion. Striking and colorful with towering stems, this August birth flower and 40th wedding anniversary flower evoke the drama of Roman gladiators."_

That year, they all went to the Town Square to watch the Games. Everyone went-the bettors, the Merchants, the Seam people-minus two families. It is the only time District Twelve is united; they are not the rich and the poor, the healers and the merchants, the Hob traders and the pastry bakers. At that time, that place, they are District Twelve: the coal district, the unlucky, unfortunate ones.

The Everdeens, like all others, arrived at the Square with the others. The four of them stood at the back of the crowd, the place where the latecomers were. Prim was eight and too short to see over the heads of the throe of people before her. She arched her neck, stood on her tip-toes. Nothing helped. Neither of her parents offered to let her ride on their shoulders, and she didn't ask. Still, she wondered what this commotion was all about.

"Katniss," she said.

Her sister had gone through her first Reaping the week before. If anything, she looked relieved. "Yeah, Prim?"

"Can you tell me what's happening?"

Katniss kneeled down beside her so they were shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye. Prim took this as a yes.

"Nothing's happening yet," Katniss began. "They're all waiting for the gong to sound..." Her voice trailed off. They both waited.

A gong clanged, and the sound of running, feet against loose gravel reverberated. "What now? What now?" Prim asked eagerly.

Katniss stood up to see clearly. "They're running...some of them are going to the Cornucopia, some are running the other way. This one guy found a sword there and he's..."

A sickening sound followed. It was the kind that Prim despised, of knife to flesh, the kind she associated with pain. (And death)

Katniss fell silent. She knew Prim didn't want to hear any further. She understood, through the whispers arising from the crowd.


	3. Daffodil

**Title: **Inconstancy

**Summary:**Because so much can be conveyed in a name. And in the end, it was the simplest things that mattered. Prim-centric. A collection of one-shots, in non-chronological order.

**Notes:** This one will be AU, in which Thresh wins the Hunger Games instead of Katniss.

This one seemed a bit cliche to me. I guess the idea is used often. Maybe that's why?

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Hunger Games or the opening quote.

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**Daffodil**

_"Lore connecting the daffodil to not only a sign of winter's end but a lucky emblem of future prosperity is found throughout the world."_

"I'm sorry for your loss," they said to her.

"If only things were different..." they murmured as she passed by.

If only Katniss had made it out of the tree in time. If only the Gamemakers hadn't sent that ball of fire her way. If only she ran to the fields of grain instead of to the forest. If only she hadn't volunteered. If only she went in instead of her, so it would be _herself _they would be murmuring about.

If only, if only...

The girl on fire, they dubbed her. The Capitol must be laughing in their silk-spun clothes, their flamboyant wigs. The irony of it all.

After the Games, Gale came by often. He provided her mother and herself with whatever the Hob had to offer that day, just like Katniss used to. His coat even has the same scent as Katniss used to have-that fresh forest smell. When he walked past her, she could just barely catch a whiff of Katniss.

Her mother accepted this with nothing but a strained smile. That was how she went about most things now.

These days, she found herself talking to Gale; he was the only other person who knew Katniss as well as she did. Most of the time, she was sure she didn't make sense at all. That didn't keep her from talking. She told him the stories most: that year Katniss bought Lady for her, the day she tried (and failed) to teach her how to use a bow and arrow. Some included him. Others didn't. But they were all stories he had heard before, but from a olive-skinned, dark-haired girl.

So when Gale offered to teach her how to hunt, she had to refuse. He shrugged and said something about going to the Hob. As he left, he didn't seem too disappointed. Relieved, maybe.


	4. White Clover

**Title: **Inconstant

**Summary: **Because so much can be conveyed in a name. And in the end, it was the simplest things that mattered the most. Prim-centric. A collection of one-shots, in non-chronological order.

**Notes: **Sorry for the month-long wait; I've been busy working on a one-shot I'm planning to post sometime soon.

Enjoy the (slightly) longer chapter!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Hunger Games.

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**White Clover**

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_I promise_

He snickered.

"What's a Merchant girl doing here, huh?"

Without looking up, Prim knew exactly who he was talking to. What other blond-haired girl would be caught in a Seams place?

Still, she pretended that she couldn't hear him. Katniss will be here soon, she told herself, over and over again. She rubbed the fabric of her sweater between her fingers, waiting for her sister to come.

"Why are you still here? Go run off to your rich parents!" he taunted her. She didn't budge, just ducked her head and kept silent.

What was she doing here? Why wasn't she home with her mother, helping her heal patients?

"I'm not a Merchant girl," she whispered, so softly she could barely hear herself.

He didn't listen.

"Go back to where you belong."

Prim glanced at him. The boy in front of her was about the same age as her, maybe younger. They were at least the same height, though she cowered before him. When he leaned in, she could smell the scent of coal in his breath. Years ago, that was what her father had smelled like after a long day at the coal mines. Unconsciously, she stepped back.

She considered leaving. Maybe then he would leave her alone. But that would be worse, because then Katniss would ask why she had left and she would have to tell her what had happened.

It seemed like hours before Prim heard the familiar clink of boots approaching her. Katniss had finished trading game, and they were ready to leave. Prim breathed a sigh of relief, and greeted her sister.

"Katniss," she managed to squeak out. "Hi."

Katniss gave her a quick smile, then glared at the boy. "Was he bothering you?" she demanded.

Prim avoided both their gazes. "No," she said quietly.

Katniss's glare didn't falter. "He better not be," she said.

The boy raised an eyebrow at this. He looked from Katniss to her, then back at Katniss. A Seams girl defending a Merchant girl...The ones from Seam rarely, if ever, conversed with the ones in the merchant area. So this, here, was unusual.

"Mom's waiting for us at home," Prim reminded Katniss. "We should go now." She took a few steps away, and gestured for Katniss to follow.

Katniss turned from the boy. "I guess," she said. Her tone carried a stony quality to it, firm like a schoolteacher's, unlike the patient, delicate voice of her mother. She gave the boy one last warning glare, and said to Prim, "Let's go."

They walked home in silence. Prim was usually the one who did the talking, but she didn't know what to say. There wasn't much to say. She trudged along beside Katniss, taking a false fascination with the fabric of her sweater.

By the time they arrived home, Prim was almost convinced that Katniss had forgotten what had just happened. Almost. She knew better: Katniss never forgot anything, especially something like this. So when Katniss gripped the doorknob before Prim could to stop her from opening the door, it was no surprise.

"If he does something like that again, you can tell me, okay?" Katniss said. The question was more of an order than a suggestion.

"...He won't bother me again," Prim promised. But even to her, it sounded self-assuring.


End file.
